The story was written (well,
In my mind), it wasn’t supposed to
End.
Just like that,
I had already finished
Writing this chapter, the ink
Was still
Drying, juxtaposed
With what was
Real—wet tears
Retracing trails
Of words that were
Already
Stale—no new
Pages to turn.
The doorknob
Of my childhood
Home, the place
She was still
Living, (would be)
Familiar as a pen
In my hand, just one
Twist
And there,
She’d be—my first home—
On the other side
See how I’d written it in
A way
That she’d never go
Away,
But
Here’s the twist—
Out of nowhere, she fell
Ill and
She left me.
Homeless
-
Author:
eckardcb (
Offline) - Published: October 29th, 2025 09:00
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
Offline)
Comments1
A sad flash from the past that affects the present. Emotionally felt.
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